


Streaks of Red

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jason's a big softie around puppies, Mostly Canon Compliant, fudging a couple of timelines though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: She had isolated herself for five years, kept herself from touching others and being touched by them, but the familiar touch of Jason Todd had Anne melting against him. She'd missed him, craved the protection she felt when he was nearby, and now she had him all to herself again. He'd been brought back to life and he was dragging her out of the grave she'd dug for herself.





	1. Anne Valentine

 

Blood was everywhere around her, the copper scent hanging heavy in the air and making her feel even sicker than she already was. The sharp pain in her stomach didn't let up any, a scream stuck in her throat as she lies on the hard ground with a hand pressed to the wound.  _I don't wanna go like this_. She was fucking terrified, her fast-beating heart only causing more blood to pulse from the stab wound.

She should've seen it coming, but she couldn't remember anything apart from the blur of movement, a flicker of silver, and then the knife sticking out of her midsection. Bruce had taken out the man who'd done it a second later, but she'd still fallen to the floor with one hand grasping the bright purple hilt and a look of surprise on her face.

"Robin, no," Bruce had shouted at some point, his arms filled with her and delaying him in running after his other sidekick.

"Go," she gasped," go get him. Don't let him do somethin' stupid."

"What about you?"

"Call an ambulance."

He'd done just that, stuffing an empty duffle bag under her head to act as a pillow while he ran after Jason and the Joker. That's how she wound up where she was, in serious pain yet unable to do much more than breathe, though that hurt more than she liked. Had the knife punctured a lung? 

 _Am I really dying?_  

The fact that she was starting to go numb didn't stop her anxious thoughts from racing, her tight grip on the knife beginning to go slack. She was just so tired, her lids feeling like lead weights the more she fought to keep her eyes open. "Just a bit longer," she whispers hoarsely to no one," they'll come back for me. They'll be safe and we'll be home in no time with a group of villains gift-wrapped for Arkham."

They had to be, she didn't know how she'd go on without Bruce and Jason; the three of them were supposed to fight crime together for another few years at the least. Jason had made a promise to her just a few hours ago after they'd dressed up for this mission, he had to survive so he could keep that stupid thing.

She reaches up and clasps the silver necklace around her throat, the metal cold against her palm and her eyes growing misty. "Please," she begs, the world around her beginning to grow dark," please, just let us be okay."

And her hand fell numbly to the floor.

* * *

 

Anne jerked into a sitting position, nearly falling out of the chair she'd passed out in. She half expected to be back in that cold room, the floor around her covered in the crimson of her blood, but she was just at work. The familiar hubbub of conversation flowed around her, soothing her frazzled nerves and grounding her back in reality. "Keep it together," she mutters, running a hand through her hair. It was long now, a big change from how it had been just five years ago.

"Valentine," her boss yells from across the room," my office, now!" She gives a curt nod, pushing away from her desk and walking past the other cubicles that made up the fourth story of Reynold Publishing. Francis Graham was a short, squat man with graying hair and the steely eyes that led her to believe he'd seen some real shit. It was the same hard gaze that her old boss had, like bad memories surfaced no matter what he was doing even if it was just fixing up a grilled cheese.

"What do you need, Graham?"

"Get in here and shut the door." She steps into the broom closet of an office, kicking the door shut hard enough for the blinds to clatter against the glass. Graham's office, if it could actually be called that, was just large enough for a desk, three chairs that were falling apart one screw at a time, and a rusted file cabinet that only held a bottle of whisky and a toothbrush.

"Tell me what you want or I'm walkin' out, Graham."

"What makes you think you can talk to your boss like that?" She raises a brow at that and Graham waves it off with a grunt. "I need you to help me pick a tie." He lays three out on the desk, each one worse than the last in shades of bright green, yellow with little green stars, and a pale blue with little paisley designs on it.

"What's the occasion?"

"Dinner with my in-laws. My wife said it was at one of those fancy restaurants where you need a reservation an entire year in advance, so it has to be a nice one." Anne takes a moment, picking up each tie and holding them closer to her face.

"Green one would be best, otherwise you'll look tackier than you usually do."

"Thanks, Valentine."

"No problem." She sets the ties back down and heads for the door, an idea to leave early blooming as more time passed. "I'm heading home, punch out for me at the normal time."

"You got it, kid." She moves back to her little cubicle, opening the bottom drawer of her desk where she kept her purse stored. Her fingers itched to grab the orange prescription bottle she knew was in there, but she forced herself to wait as she walked quickly out of the cramped office space and to the elevator bank at the end of the hall. The entire building was slowly falling into disrepair, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering enough to make the shadows more unnerving, mold was climbing up the walls like ivy, and there was a hole in the roof that widened every time it rained.

It was a disheartening building altogether, definitely not helping with her clinging depression, but she was normally kept busy with the grunt work. 'File this, type that, don't smoke cigarettes so close to those oxygen tanks' were regular phrases in her everyday life, but she was always bone tired when she got home. Sleeping kept her from having to take her pills, which kept her from feeling like a zombie that was incapable of tearing open a ribcage. She hated how dependent she'd become lately, relying on the pills more and more to keep those dark thoughts away even if it was just for brief moments at a time.

The shrink she was forced to see once a month said it was PTSD mixed with depression, the latter of which ran deep in her family, and he was probably right about it all. She had days where the sound of string being pulled taunt made her flinch, a car backfiring had her reaching for the arrows that were no longer secured in a quiver, and other days she couldn't even force herself to get out of bed.

Surely she couldn't be blamed for that? Others in Gotham had it a whole lot worse than she did, so did she even have a right to feel so awful all the time? She had a roof over her head, food in her belly on the days she remembered to eat, and a job that paid well because she was good at the tasks her boss handed down to her.

Black Mask wasn't the most reasonable asshole in the city, but he did recognize her talents when it came to archery. While she mainly worked in typing and filing away certain papers he'd need at a later time to help him ease his way past security, he also called on her for missions when her alter ego was required to take down a couple of the more ambitious members of his little gang on the east side.

Anne Valentine was the solitary type of person, only talking to others when it was necessary and even then, she made sure to keep what she said short and to the point. Whirlwind, on the other hand, was full of confident bravado, moving swiftly and taking people out with her arrows without blinking. She'd gone from superhero to assassin in five years, able to avoid Batman easily since he'd taught her everything she knew about going undetected.

That didn't mean running into him from time to time wasn't awkward as hell, neither one able to act on what they really wanted to do, though that mainly consisted of her wanting to kick his ass and him wanting to drag her back to his house by her hair and give her the world's longest lecture.

Fuck him, let him brood in his stupid man cave.

"Come on," she grumbles, pushing the elevator button over and over until the stupid doors finally slide open. "About freakin' time." She steps inside, pressing the button for the lobby and waiting for the doors to shut before she snatched the bottle out of her purse. It was larger than the last time, filled with more of the oval pills than usual because of her therapist's worry that she would do something stupid to herself. She wasn't the suicidal type no matter what he thought, but she was tired of arguing the point.

She twists the lid back on and drops the bottle back into her purse, leaning her head back against the wall with her eyes closed. She hated taking Paxil, it always made her feel sick to her stomach and kept her from eating normally.  _Did I take something out this morning?_  She couldn't remember, but thinking about food had her stomach growling.

Anne pulls her cell out and unlocks it, tapping on her bank app so she could see how much money she had left. It was her more public account, placed under her real name for the paychecks from Reynold Publishing, and it was the one she used to pay her bills on most days. One drawback with it, though, was that it usually only had twenty bucks left over once said bills were paid and tonight was no different.

"Okay, leftovers it is," she sighs. The real question would be if she even had any leftovers since she hadn't cooked much that week. Shit, she rarely ever cooked unless she was completely starving and too broke to afford Taco Hell. The elevator comes to a stop on ground level, the doors sliding halfway open with the little bell dinging over and over again to mark her arrival to the lobby. "Piece of shit elevator." She squeezes through the gap with a frown, deciding to have a long talk with Black Mask later that week about working conditions. Unless he wants an extra hole in his body, then he'd fix the elevator before Monday.

The frown stayed in place as she walked past the front desk and out the doors, no one wanting to talk to her when she had her bitch face on display. She was just glad the expression was so effective at keeping morons at bay, giving her the peace she needed to reach the curb and hail a cab. By this point, the only cabbie working the block had her address memorized and he knew she would re-break his nose if he tried to steal any of her shit. The first time had landed him in the hospital, since then he'd pretty much left her alone.

The ride to her crummy apartment building was only ten minutes, an easy walk during daylight hours, but far too dangerous at night even if you worked for the city's newest crime boss. Anne didn't like taking unnecessary chances and walking at home with only a can of pepper spray and her give 'em hell attitude wasn't the smartest thing in the world. She tosses Dex the cab fee before stepping out onto the damp sidewalk, looking around her anxiously when she felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Someone was watching her, someone close by.

Her dark eyes sweep over the buildings and alleyways, finding no one other than a stray cat that hung around the Mexican restaurant across the street. "You're getting paranoid, Anne," she mutters to herself, shoulders still tense as she gripped her keys. She knew the feeling of being watched, it was like someone was burning a hole into the back of her neck, but even when she glanced up at the rooftops, she saw no one.

Shaking her head, she sprints up the steps of her building and unlocks one of the barred doors, letting it slam shut behind her as entered. Being in the seedier section of town meant more security; bars over all the ground windows, a guard occupying the front desk with a pistol on his hip, apartment doors consisting of no less than three locks, and a panic button under every kitchen counter that alerted the GCPD of an attack. Even if the building had enough rats to start a pet store, it was one of the safest places around.

Her apartment was on the very top floor, a real bitch to reach when the elevator wasn't working, but it gave her much-needed solitude since it was one of the more expensive apartments. There was one other person on her floor, a guy in his late thirties who could hack into any database he wanted to for an ounce of Crack. Rhett was a pretty chill guy for the most part, though he did barge into her apartment every other Tuesday to cuddle with her puppy and rant about conspiracy theories.

Just thinking about her neighbor made her smile a little as she unlocked her door and pushed it open. She might go out and buy some groceries in the morning just to make sure the dork had some food in his belly when he came down off his Wednesday night high.  _He did say he liked stroganoff, didn't he?_  Anne wasn't entirely sure, last week's visit more a blur than anything since she'd spent it half-awake in his bathtub just trying to get her damn dog back.

"Trapper," she calls out when the little pup didn't race into the living room after she kicked the door shut. "C'mon, boy!" She drops her purse and keys down on the kitchen counter, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out the puppy food Trapper liked best. "Food time, Trapper, c'mon!" Anne pours the food into his little bowl and fills the other with water, waiting for him to come out of her bedroom with his tail wagging.

When that doesn't happen, her brows furrow in worry. Had Rhett borrowed him again and not bothered to leave a note? It wouldn't be the first time, but his apartment was always silent when he had Trapper and she could make out the last few notes of In the Mood dwindling to a close.

She slowly moves through her home, making sure he hadn't gotten trapped in the broom closet again before checking the tiny bathroom. The only other room left was the bedroom just off the kitchen, but the door was shut like it had been when she left that morning. With pursed lips, she crosses the room and throws the door open, an unexpected sight waiting for her just a few feet away.

A man was sprawled out on her bed like he owned the damn thing, one leg hanging off the side while the other was bent at the knee, he had a secure hold on the black fuzz ball of a puppy and a crooked smile on his face. She could feel the blood drain from her face as their gazes locked, blue and brown clashing like they often did in her memories. Jason fucking Todd was snuggling with her dog like he wasn't supposed to be six feet under.

"Shut the door," he commands, voice a deep tenor she'd never thought him capable of," we need to talk, Annie."


	2. Zombieland and Puppies

"You eat my dog's brains and I'll shoot you so full of arrows that you look like a porcupine," Anne threatens without missing a beat, focused on the zombie lying a few feet away.

"Is that any way to talk to your bestie," Jason demands, his smile disappearing as he sits up against the headboard. He looked surprisingly well for a member of the undead, dressed in a pair of jeans, a gray tee, and a leather jacket, his black hair sticking up all over his head and his blue eyes almost glowing in the dark room. She turned on the light, but it didn't stop the weird glowing effect.

"It is when you've been dead for five years and then think holding my dog hostage will score you any brownie points." He scoffs and sets the pup on the floor, Trapper almost tripping over his paws as he ran over to Anne. She notices that he's not been hurt at all, squirming in her arms until she holds him close to her chest like someone might hold a baby. That was Trapper's favorite way to be held, all four paws sticking up in the air and his ears flopped backwards.

"So, how've you been?"

"Just peachy," she remarks sarcastically," livin' the American dream." There's a moment of silence where they just observe each other, taking in the subtle changes that have developed over the time they were apart. Jason had gained more muscle, though it was subtle and lean, his jaw more pronounced and square, and a streak of gray near his hairline. He was only twenty-three, too young for any gray hairs, but it seemed to suit this new him.

"You grew your hair out." Self-consciously, she tucks a lock of it behind her ear with her free hand. It had been kept short when she was younger, stopping just above her shoulders and curling in loose ringlets, but she'd grown it out as a sign of maturity. Now, with his intense stare focused on her, she began to wonder if she just looked like a kid playing dress up. "I liked it short."

"I didn't." She had, she'd loved it when he'd tug on one of her curls whenever he joked, but she couldn't stand the thought of anyone else doing that after he died. "How—" She cuts herself off with a sigh, absently scratching at Trapper's warm belly. "Who are you?" He couldn't be her Jason, he was buried in Wayne cemetery just outside the manor house, a moldering corpse in a moldering suit that he'd hated in life. This Jason's smile drops away and he stands, walking over to Anne only to have her back up when he was too close.

"You know who I am, Annie, you're just too far in denial to say it." She shakes her head stubbornly, putting all his familiar facial cues down to a man who was damn good at acting. Someone could have connected her with the wealthy Bruce Wayne and thought mimicking Jason would make her relax around him just enough for him to kidnap her and hold her for ransom.

"Don't call me that," she snarls," you don't get to call me that! Jason has been dead for five years and you're a fucking sicko!" Trapper tenses in her arms, yipping anxiously and wiggling until she was forced to drop him. He landed on all fours between her and the imposter, his little teeth bared and a growl—if it could even be called that—making his entire body vibrate.

"How can I prove who I am to you? Tell me and I'll fucking do it!" She doesn't say anything to him, jaw clenched tightly to keep from alerting Rhett about the trouble. The last thing she needed was for the hacker to burst in with his freaking computer keyboard again. Fake Jason heaved a tired sigh, running slim fingers through his messy hair as he thought. It was something her Jason had done numerous times when he was studying history, something he'd never been able to kick. To see Fake Jason do it so perfectly only made her chest ache. "I know your other name."

"I don't have another name, jackass."

"You were Whirlwind, one of Batman's sidekicks who just wanted to learn archery and read romance novels." Anne shakes her head and the man nodded in return. "You liked those mushy books because there was always a happy ending, one you never thought you'd have in Gotham since real life was just messy. You would curl up in the library with a romance book and read your favorite passages out loud just to hear the echo."

"Get out of my house!" She wanted to scream at him, to beat at his chest with her fists until he just left her alone and stopped dragging up painful memories. No one other than Bruce and Alfred knew that about her, not even Jason did.

"I used to sit between the stacks at night with my eyes closed, listening to you read aloud and wondering if you're voice was always so tender and hopeful. I did it for  _years_ , Annie, just listening to you reciting 'once upon a time' over and over." He takes a step forward, grabbing her wrists in a gentle yet firm hold and pinning her against the doorframe, ignoring the way Trapper was pulling on the hem of his jeans. "You and I used to curl up together on my window seat when we were supposed to be asleep and we'd look up at the stars, trying to count them all."

"Let me go!"

"Not until you fucking admit the truth!" His eyes were so bright, like the sky on a summer afternoon, not obstructed by clouds and so perfectly clear. " _I'm Jason_ ,  _I'm_   _your_   _Jason, and you know it!_ "

"My Jason is dead!" She pushes him away from her, watching as he's forced backwards a couple feet. "He was beaten to death five years ago by an insane piece of trash with a crowbar!" The man flinches at that, one hand moving to clutch at his side as if he'd been struck by an imaginary blow. "You're just an imposter and you need to leave before I put you in the ground." He looks up at her through his tangled hair, looking every bit the rogue from her romance novels that swept women off their feet.

"Give me one last chance to prove that I'm you're Jason. Just one, Annie." She doesn't say anything, staring at him with such a cold expression that she was surprised when he didn't develop frostbite. "Before we left on that last mission, the one that... Well, you know what it did just like I do." He shakes the hair off his face, revealing a pale scar just above his left eye. The real Jason had one of those too, she'd put it there when she was just starting her archery practice. "We had just suited up and I made you a promise, one that I had meant to keep and sealed with a necklace. Do you remember?"

* * *

 

Anne moves out of her private dressing room, her black mask in hand as she started after Bruce down the short hall to the main room of the cave. Her outfit was simple compared to Jason's, just black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt made of a special material that lessened the effect of weapons; a blue and red tornado was printed on the front of her shirt and she had a quiver of arrows strapped across her back.

"Annie, wait," Jason calls, grabbing at her wrist to keep her from leaving the hall. He was already dressed in his Robin suit, his domino mask in place with the white lenses muffling his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asks, brows furrowed. Usually he was ready before she and Bruce were, hopping into the Batmobile while they were still pulling on their suits. "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not." He runs a gloved hand through his messy hair, just messing it up even more and making a few parts stick straight up in the air. "I just... I just wanted to make sure you knew that I, well, you know." She grins, suddenly glad that the thick heel of her boots made her height match his as she leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I know." He nods and fumbles for something in his utility belt, pulling out a necklace and dangling it in front of her face. It was a little bow with an arrow notched, small diamonds running along the shaft of it, and the entire thing hanging from a sterling silver chain. "What's that for?"

"For you to wear." He gives her a crooked grin when she slapped at his shoulder, her own shy smile present. "I've been thinkin' that- No, those aren't the right words." He runs his fingers through his hair again and lets out a noise of surprise when she slaps his hands away.

"Take it easy before you trip over your words, dork." He nods, mumbling something under his breath as she smoothed his hair down. Her own gloves stopped just above her wrists, cobalt strands forming another small tornado on the inside of the palms.

"I want to make a promise to you and I need you to listen without talkin' for a second while I do it." Anne nods in consent, looking at him the same way she has for the past three years, encouraging and happy. "I've really liked you for the past three years now, like more than just a friend. I like the way your laugh is goofy and the way you're not afraid to hit me with a book when I'm being an ass, I like how your lips feel soft against mine and taste like cherries, and how you know what I mean without me having to say it. What I'm trying to say now is that I want us to stay together after we're finished with our training."

"You want to move in together?"

"Yeah, I'll follow you all over the planet if it means staying by your side. You're my best friend and my girlfriend, you're just home, Annie."

"You're my home too, Jason." She wraps her arms around his waist in a hug, her face resting in the crook of his neck so she could breathe in the sweet scent of his aftershave. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her as well, one hand rubbing up and down the curve of her spine while the other rested on the small of her back. They stay like that for a moment, memorizing the way the other felt since going out on a job meant a real possibility of death.

"That's what this necklace is," Jason says a moment later, making her turn around so he could fasten the chain around her throat. "This is my promise to you that we'll always be together no matter what happens."

* * *

 

Anne snaps out of the memory, one hand wrapped tightly around the bow and arrow charm hanging from her necklace. That had been the night when she'd been stabbed and Jason had died, a moment they had shared with no one else around to hear them. And everything he'd said, the private things that no one other than Jason would know, had her partially convinced that this whacko might be who he said he was.

Still...

"Where were we going to move," she demands, meeting the man's gaze and holding it.

"Manhattan," he answers without pausing to think," because you liked the city, but you liked the thought of occasionally seeing Iron Man soaring overhead even more. You believe me now or should I just hit the road?" She purses her lips, striding forward and gripping the hem of his shirt in her hand, yanking it up to find nasty bruises and shallow cuts. They looked fresh, like he'd already been in some sort of scrap since he returned from the grave, but what she was looking for was still over his heart.

"Jesus fuck..." She reluctantly looks away from the black ink depicting a crowned robin, finding his crooked grin back in place. "You're really you, I mean, you're Jason fucking Todd."

"And don't you forget it, Annie." She stares up at him in bafflement, wondering how this had been possible at all since she'd seen his coffin lowered into the ground and covered in dirt from the comfort of her bedroom. He would've had to fight tooth and nail to get out by himself and Bruce would've tracked her down if that had happened.

"How?"

"Al Ghul's kid made me take a swim in the Lazarus Pit, brought me back from the edge of death apparently and gave me my memories back." He rubs the side of his head, grimacing at some painful memory. "I trained for a while, built my strength back up and got some things under control, and then I thought I'd come find my Annie. I was half afraid that you'd moved on and found a new guy to share a house with."

"As if that would ever happen." She wasn't the type to buy into the true love bullshit, but moving on from a guy she had legitimately loved for a good hunk of her life had proved difficult. Hell, it basically led to her living next door to a crackhead hacker with trust issues and a tendency to "borrow" Trapper. Don't get her wrong, she loved Rhett to pieces, but even she had to doubt his sanity at times when he suggested the government was lacing his pizza with LSD just to fuck with him.

"So, how've you been?" He flops back on her bed and Trapper, sensing things were calm again, rests his front paws on the bottom of the bed and whines until Jason gets the hint to pick him back up.  _Fucking traitor_.

"I believe I've already answered that question."

"How about you do it again sans sarcasm?" She gives him a dry look, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so she could bury her fingers in the soft fur of Trapper's back. The puppy was basically a ball of fluff and energy, black fur silky to the touch and his cold little nose always ready to wake her up in the mornings when he presses it against her bare feet.

"It hasn't been wholly bad I guess, but I could do with fewer rats."

"Yeah, I noticed a lot of those since I got here. I'm pretty sure you could ride one into battle."

"That's Gerald, he's cool as long as you give him Cheetos."

"Is that what we should do with the druggie next door?"

"God no, he takes that shit personally. I once tossed Rhett a bottle of ranch dressing and he didn't talk to me for an entire week, just blasted The Song That Never Ends on repeat the entire time until I slipped a Pizza Hut coupon under his door." Jason's brows meet his hairline as he stared at her like she was seven different types of crazy. "What? He's good company when he isn't high."  _And when he is high, he gives me something to focus on other than that stupid fucking bottle of anti-depressants sitting in my purse_.

"Don't get me wrong, I love you more than anything, but you're fucking crazy, babe."


	3. Rhett Bartley

Anne moves into the kitchen, opening her fridge to see if she had anything to heat up and finding only a bottle of ketchup. Was there a way to make a meal entirely of ketchup and an old can of Baked Beans? Nah, she was totally fucked for tonight. "Change of plans," she says as Jason comes into the room, Trapper following after him," we're going to a friend's house for supper."

"I thought you didn't have anyone other than me," he says, the offense obvious on his face.

"Don't flatter yourself, babe." She pats his chest sympathetically before striding for the door. "Come on, Rhett won't mind us raiding his fridge as long as we bring Trapper along."

"Who the fuck is Rhett and do I need to shoot him?"

"Rhett's the druggie next door and I'll break your nose if you shoot him." She was fond of Rhett; he was someone that could bring out her nurturing side no matter how numb she sometimes felt. He was three years her senior, but his mindset was closer to a teenager's in some aspects, so he needed someone to look after him when things got bad. "Whatever you do," she cautions as they stop in front of Rhett's door," don't mention anything about pickles."

"What, why?"

"Just trust me and don't do it." She pounds her fist against the door, the music turned down a second later, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor and then Rhett's breathy voice.

"I don't want anything," he shouts from the other side of the door. "I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"Open the damn door before I break it down, you twit!" There was a moment of silence, Jason tensing beside her, and then they could hear high, uncontrollable laughter coming from Rhett.

"How's my girl doin'?"

"I'd be even better if you let me in so I could raid your fridge." She bends down to pick up Trapper and holds him in front of the peep hole so Rhett could see him. "I brought your favorite puppy." The door is flung open, two pale hands reaching out to snatch the puppy from her hands. Rhett Bartley is a tall, broad man with light brown hair that covered one of his bright green eyes, full lips, and a slim nose. He was handsome before he started using, but now he was all sharp angles and so  _sick_  that it hurt her to look at him sometimes.

"Who's the biker?" Anne's gaze turns back to Jason with a soft smile, reaching out to grasp his hand in one of hers.

"He's a good friend and he won't hurt you while I breathe." Rhett stands there for a moment, green eyes moving from the top of Jason's head to his heavy boots and back again, taking in every small detail the way only someone paranoid can. Rhett's lips press together, wide eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Trapper approves of him."

"Then I guess he isn't a mass murdering sociopath." Still, Rhett stays rigid when he moves aside to let his friend and Jason enter. "Don't think I'm not aware that the government has spies everywhere, Bub."

"Right," Jason nods, sending Anne a look that questioned what was left of Rhett's sanity. She shrugs, moving to the minifridge in the kitchen where Rhett stored the food he liked to eat that was easy to cook. He didn't eat much when he was high, but he still kept the little fridge stocked in case Anne suddenly decided she was starving.

"C'mon, Trap," she heard Rhett saying over the sounds of Beethoven," let's shut the music off for now." Trapper's ears were sensitive to most noises, which is why Rhett pampered his little ass by turning all music completely off while the puppy was around. Not that Anne was complaining; you could only listen to the same Glenn Miller song so many times before wanting to chuck yourself out a window or learn how to swing dance. "I got brownies in the oven, Anne!"

"How about we eat something a little more nutritious first," she calls back to him, grabbing a package of hamburger meat out of the fridge and a Hamburger Helper box out of the sink.

"Your mother's no fun, Trapper." The puppy barks in return, snuggling his little head closer to Rhett's oversized tee. Anne manages a smile in return, dumping the meat in a frying man and setting it beside the stove, wiggling the knob on the stove until she realized she'd need to light it manually.

"Rhett, toss me your lighter."

"Heads up." She turns and catches it easily, winking at him as he leans back against the opposite wall. "What're you cookin', good lookin'?"

"Your favorite."

"Hey, whoa," Jason says, frowning as he comes to stand in the tiny kitchen as well. “Are you dating this guy?" Anne and Rhett share a look before bursting out in laughter that felt so damn good. She hadn't had a good laugh in so long and she didn't want to stop as it made everything seem better. "What's so funny?"

"I'm not interested in dating anyone," Rhett says breathlessly a moment later," male or female, they're still too annoying and clingy, so I prefer to stay terminally single. Your boo here, though, is just fun to flirt with."

"And you seriously expect me to believe that?" Rhett's smile, however tentative and rare, is wiped off his face in that instant and the distrusting expression slides back into place. Anne knew that look well after seeing it for nearly a year straight when she first moved into the building, any and all shaky ground Jason and Rhett had established falling away into the dark, gaping void.

 _Fuck_.

"Yes," Rhett says in a low voice," yank your jealous head out of your ass and you could see it like anyone else. Until then, you can go wait out in the hallway until Anne's had her dinner." Jason's blue eyes narrow in return, squaring his shoulders as he prepared for a fight, but he deflates when Anne rests a hand on his unbruised shoulder.

"It's alright," she murmurs, making sure he was looking at her and not Rhett," I'll be there in a little bit." Jason gives a curt nod, recognizing that she was just trying to prevent a fight. Even in the abused state that he was in, Jason could still turn Rhett into a pile of mush and she wasn't having it. "I'll bring you some dinner over when it's done."

"And what am I supposed to do while I wait," he asks, raising thin, dark brows.

"I don't know, make a Facebook account and stalk Bruce or get caught up with Game of Thrones." He frowns, but nods all the same and walks out of Rhett's apartment without another word or acknowledging the other man.

"All offense intended," Rhett says once the door was slammed shut," but your boyfriend's a giant douche." Anne snorts out a laugh at that, only able to nod along with the assessment. Jason had always been a hothead in search of a fight, but she'd be damned before she let the two most important people in her life fight each other.

"Help me with this hamburger, you dork."

* * *

 

The most satisfying part of being able to send bad guys off to jail or Arkham was knowing that more people would be safe on the streets. It still didn't change the fact that there were always casualties no matter how hard he tried to keep things simple, the casualty in this instance being the small child currently held in Robin's arms.

"We can't just drop her off at the police station," Dick was saying, trying his best to keep the crying child from falling out of his arms. Bruce doesn't hesitate to take her from his sidekick, holding her up so he could examine her. She was scrawny and pale, but she was obviously well-cared for.

 _Greywind may have been a ruthless crime boss, but he obviously cared for the kid_.

Greywind, now identified as Dorian Valentine, has been at the top of the hierarchy for almost a year; manipulative and charismatic, he could've talked a man right out of their pension. Like his alter ego, Dorian was a businessman above all else with a fortune that almost rivaled the Wayne's. Now all his accounts were frozen and the daughter no one knew he had would get nothing except a little cot in the orphanage.

The man was selfish and arrogant, but Bruce knew he'd loved the kid just by watching the way he struggled to get back to her and she kept calling for him.

"Anne," Dorian shouts, struggling against the hold of two GCPD officers," get that freak away from my Annie!" Bruce, lips pressed into a grim line, turns his back on the man and begins to walk over to the Batmobile with Dick right behind him.

"Want my daddy," Anne whimpers, struggling to get out of Bruce's hold. "Want my daddy!" He says nothing as he climbs into the modified car and hands the child back to Dick so he could drive them back to the mansion. He had no idea what he was going to do about the screaming six year old, but he couldn't just dump her on the steps of the orphanage with all her father's enemies walking free. No, she'd need to be somewhere safe with someone to look out for her.

"Dick, say hello to our newest edition," he murmurs finally, his mind made up. "Anne Valentine will be staying with us for a while."


	4. Leaving Home

The next few days passed like they normally did except for the fact that Anne had a dead guy that wasn't actually dead sleeping beside her in bed. Not that she was complaining, Jason was warm and he snuggled like his life depended on it most nights. The only rub was that he and Rhett refused to cooperate, which led to Rhett blasting Piano Sonata at three in the morning and Jason flushing Rhett's drugs down the toilet.

Yeah, things were all hunky dory.

_These fuckers are gonna put me in an early grave._

"Morning, baby," Jason mumbles as he shuffles into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. Anne grunts in reply, staring down into her mug of tea without really registering that her boyfriend was up before noon. She was exhausted and she ached everywhere, but that was nothing new. "You look depressed."

"Yeah, I hear depression does that to a person." He gives her an unamused look as he sits next to her at the little bar that was actually an extended portion on the kitchen counter and divided the kitchen from her living room. "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Same as usual." He was having nightmares of the beating again, twitching in pain as the crowbar slammed down on him again and again. Anne used to have nightmares like that, though hers revolved around a knife sticking out of her stomach. She covers the spot with her hand on instinct, lips pressed tightly together to keep the whimper from escaping. She'd done her best to put it out of her mind, the ugly scar that her baggy sweaters hid. "Stomach ache?"

"No, I'm fine." With a sigh, Anne rises and dumps her untouched tea down the drain, resting the cup in the sink. She took a moment to come back to the present, pressing the back of her hand against her head and closing her eyes. She just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep until the world ended, but she had a job to do this morning. She moves to the broom closet and pulls out her costume, the black material smooth and cold against her hands.

She changes in her bathroom, kicking off her jeans first and following with her sweater. It's not until then that she remembers why she avoided changing in the bathroom at all costs, her gaze drawn to her reflection and the jagged scar just above her belly button. She hated seeing it, the skin raised from the rest of her body and a dark pink that stood out sharply against her pale skin.

"So, that's why you refuse to wear anything other than sweaters." She jumps when Jason speaks and she would've fallen backwards had he not wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her snugly against his chest. In the week since he returned, she's never been this close to him while conscious and she lets out a sharp breath as she feels his hard, lean muscles beneath her hands.

"I need to get dressed, I n-need my shirt."

"Why? Because you're ashamed of that scar?"

"Jason, please—" He maneuvers them so that she's standing in front of him and unable to move away from the mirror. She bowed her head and crossed her arms over her stomach, going stock-still when she feels Jason grasping her wrists. "Just let me go," she pleads hoarsely. Why was he doing this to her? She could barely get dressed when she was by herself, but having Jason see her like this made her angry.

"No, not until you can see what I see." He forces her arms away from her belly, then uses a hand to lift her head so she could see her reflection. "What do you see, Annie?"

"Someone tap dancing on my last nerve." She glares at his reflection, hands clasped into fists at her sides. He purses his lips and raises a brow, making Anne roll her eyes and slouch against him. "I see someone who has given up and just lives day to day all because she can't get over her depression."

"Really? Because I see a woman who's beaten so many odds that it's not even funny; she survived being ripped away from the only family she knew, survived fighting crime bosses and lunatics, survived being  _stabbed_ , and such heartbreak that nearly overwhelmed her. I see a woman who will outlive everyone because she's stronger than she realizes." Anne manages a smile, tilting her head back to look at him.

"You're a dreamer, Jason."

"And you're my dream, Annie." Shaking her head, she lightly nudges his side with her elbow until he shuffles to the side so she can finish getting dressed. Despite his kind words, she didn't feel any different, still felt like the girl who couldn't function without those stupid pills in her purse.

"I love you, Jason, but sweet words aren't a miraculous cure for depression."

* * *

 

The days following Jason's funeral were quiet, Anne spending them in bed as she recovered and tried not to ruin her stitches. She hadn't been able to attend the funeral, hadn't wanted to, and that's what really had Bruce worried. While Jason and Anne hadn't been especially close in childhood, they had been practically inseparable these last three years and the fact that she had closed herself away had Bruce wondering how she'd react if he broke her door down.

"Master Bruce, the doctor is here." He turns at Alfred's voice, finding the butler just a few feet away. He looked as haggard as Bruce felt, his posture no longer perfect and the dark circles under his eyes showing just how little he'd been sleeping. It wasn't a surprise given how often he'd found Alfred sitting patiently outside Anne's bedroom door in the middle of the night, just waiting for her to let him in. If nothing else, Alfred was stubbornly patient.

Bruce was about to tell Alfred to let the man in when he heard the click of a lock being slid back. Both men looked to the door at the end of the hall as it slowly begins to open, Anne stepping out a moment later. Her lips were pressed together tightly and one arm was wrapped around her midsection, but that wasn't what held Bruce's attention. She looked so sick, her skin pale and taunt from days of not eating or getting enough sunlight, and her entire body was trembling from the effort of leaving her bed.

"Are you alright, Annie," Bruce asks worriedly, taking a step toward her.

"Don't call me that," she says, almost too quiet to be heard. "Only Jason was allowed to call me that and he's dead." It takes everything Bruce has not to move from his spot and pull her into a hug, her toneless voice making him worry more for her than he already had been. "Tell your doctor to go back to his cozy office, I'm leaving."

"Miss Valentine," Alfred tries to protest," you really shouldn't be venturing out this late at night."

"I'm eighteen now, I'm a big girl." It was then Bruce noticed her backpack and the brace on her arm; that brace alone let him know she had her quiver of arrows and her bow packed away in the case she held, but it did nothing to reassure him. This is Gotham at night and she looks so frail, she would be easy pickings in this state of mind. Alfred seemed to see the same thing because the butler straightens even further and gains the  _not on my watch_  expression Bruce was entirely too familiar with.

"Anne Harper Valentine, you get back in that bed and you allow the doctor to examine you or I'll drag you back in there by your hair!" Bruce's eyes widen a fraction at the outburst, having never seen Alfred look so determined and so much like a parent before. The man had practically raised Bruce, but at least Bruce had never outright decided to leave for good. This was the little girl that Alfred had soothed at night, the one he'd watched grow up into a reluctant superhero, and they all shared the loss of Jason together.

Anne raises her chin just the slightest amount and Bruce can see the resolve burning in her eyes that he saw every day in the mirror. If there was one thing she'd learned from him over the years, it was how to be an incredibly stubborn shit that wouldn't stop until she'd gotten what she wanted.

"I'm leaving," Anne states firmly," and you're not going to stop me." She keeps her head up as she shoulders past the men, Bruce turning to watch as she descends the stairs and walks right out the front door of the manor without looking back. She'd made up her mind a long time ago that the superhero life wasn't for her and this just seemed to cement the fact.

And just like that, Bruce felt like he'd just lost another member of his family.


	5. Jason Todd Sends his Regards

It was supposed to be an easy mission—get in, get information, get out—but Jason liked to complicate things in a way only he can. She really should have seen it coming, but she had wrongly assumed Jason had grown up in the five years since his rebirth. "Are you serious," Anne asks, turning her gaze back to her boyfriend.

"I don't joke about this, baby. Hey, you got any of that honey ham lunchmeat?" The lieutenant tied to the chair looks to Anne disbelievingly and she gives an indulgent smile.

"Uh... Yeah," the guy says after a moment," in the bottom crisper."

"Nice." Jason slaps a couple of pieces of it on his sandwich before setting the last piece of bread on it, taking a huge bite as he turns to face the others in the kitchen. Anne just arches a brow and it was enough to make him freeze mid-chew. "You want a bite?"

"I'm working with an idiot," she confides to the lieutenant. "Don't get me wrong, he's not so bad, but he's an idiot." Trevor wisely keeps his mouth shut, green eyes crossing as he takes in the metal tip of the arrow she had aimed at his nose. He wasn't such a bad guy in the long run, able to take orders and dole out constructive criticism that Black Mask occasionally listened to without getting his head blown off. "Shouldn't you be wearing some kind of mask?"

"What's the point? The lackey's gonna be dead soon anyway." Anne scoffs, but doesn't look away from the target. "Go ahead and ask him your questions."

"You know who sent me, don't you?" Trevor gives a shaky nod, cutting his gaze back to Jason when the latter gives a moan. The sound, deep in his throat, sends shivers through Anne and sets a wanting deep in her belly. It's been years since she felt that, since she wanted nothing more than to feel another person against her. "Eyes on me, Trevor."

"B-black Mask," he stutters out, focusing back on the gleaming tip. It was razor sharp and specially crafted, able to cut through flesh and muscle easily. Jason, on her right and still eating, gives a deep-throated laugh at that, winking in Anne's direction.

"Actually, there's a new player in town that's far more interesting. He sent me to get some information out of you and you're going to provide it. Aren't you?" He nods quickly, the fear in his eyes letting everyone know he wouldn't need any torture. Trevor was loyal to whoever held the most power and, right now, that was the woman with the bow and arrow. "Who's the street-level bosses that could cause the most trouble?"

"Chi Chi, Freddie, those guys. They're the ones that distribute the drugs to the lower dealers."

"And how easy would it be to get them all in one place?"

"Tell them there's a meeting and they'll show. T-they're not the smartest, Whirlwind, they just come when called like dogs."

"And what does that make you if you're so willing the snitch on them," Jason asks, having finished his snack. "A rat? Definitely expendable." He gives a curt nod and Anne gives one in return, pulling the string taunt and releasing it without another word. The arrow buries itself in Trevor's throat, a thin line of blood escaping the man's mouth as he fights for breath. Anne watches as his green eyes dim until there's no light left, just as dull and boring as the rest of him.

"Do your thing, Jason," Anne says, starting for the window they had propped open. Trevor was the first on their laundry list of lieutenants, it would be an all-day affair and she wasn't the type to enjoy watching decapitation.  _I get enough of that in Game of Thrones_. As Jason brings out the machete he'd stolen from Rhett, Anne finds a seat on the fire escape, the metal grating cold even through the thick material of her tights.

Gotham was weirdly quiet this afternoon, the cops focused several miles away if the faint sirens were anything to go off of. One quick look around proved that Trevor's neighbors were either snuggled up in their apartments or out somewhere committing crimes. A lot of people that lived downtown stole to survive or the city ate them alive, sometimes both. Anne probably would be in Arkham or prison by now had Bruce not taken her in after capturing her father.

She shakes her head, trying her best to forget the way Dorian Valentine had always come home with a smile just for her and how he never failed to give her the tightest hugs of her life. Now that she knew what he was doing, she knew that he only gave her those hugs because he knew he was lucky to have come home alive, but he was still her father. He's gone now, locked up in Arkham and so far from Anne that it hurt sometimes.

"You lost in your head again," Jason asks, climbing out the window with his duffle bag in hand.

"Not too far," Anne shrugs," I still heard you coming." With a sigh, she gets to her feet and dusts off the back of her tights. "Did you get what you wanted?" Jason hefts the black bag up with a grin, nodding. "Wonderful. You go on to get the other heads and I'll have a meeting set up."

"Sounds good, Annie." He bends down, careful not to touch her with his bloody gloves, and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. "Take care of yourself out there."

"Don't worry about me, wonder boy."

* * *

 

Anne moved quietly towards the building, her costume keeping her well-hidden in the shadows with her cloak keeping the quiver strung over her back concealed. She crouched down, brown eyes focused on the back door that opened every evening at precisely seven O'clock by a goon with a nicotine addiction. She's been watching it for a month, memorized the guard shifts and what their weaknesses were.

Any second now and she could have Black Mask filled with arrows.

Just like clockwork, the door is opened and the man steps outside with his lighter halfway to his cigarette, dead before he hits the ground with a razor-sharp arrow stuck through his eye. Anne yanks it out as she passes, kicking his body out of the way so that the door would close behind her. She notches the arrow again, starting up the metal stairs. Keeping her steps light, she moves almost silently through the darkness.

There were windows every few feet, but there was no moon out that night and the guard she approached never noticed her until she loosed her arrow again. He fell with a gurgling noise, Anne grunting under his weight as she gently lowers him down to keep the  _thud_  of a body against metal from alerting the others. The rest of the way should be smooth sailing, the guards chatting as they switched shifts in one of the lower levels.

As she had figured, she didn't run into anyone until she made it to the penthouse. Every three minutes, a black-clad guard would pass the door to the stairwell and there were four other guards in the room just outside of Black Mask's office. She waits for the guard to pass before sprinting across the hall to the door, steeling her nerves and steadying her hands. She needed to be at full speed if she was going to pull this off and shaking hands would only slow her down.

With one last breath, she kicks the door open and releases another arrow. The shock of it all allowed her to have another arrow embedding itself in a guard's throat and another still notched to the string before the remaining two guards reacted. She manages to let loose another arrow into the third guard's leg to slow him down, but the fourth was on top of her before she could grab the next one from her quiver, tackling her to the ground.

Grunting, she struggles to get a hand under her cloak, bringing out a short knife and jabbing it hard in the guard's thigh. She brings her elbow back sharply, knocking him completely off of her. Anne pulls the knife out and kicks the third guard out of her way, throwing open the doors to Black Mask's office.

It was large with the wall behind the massive desk made up completely of windows. The walls and floors were a dark red, almost crimson, with silver accents running in sharp lines over the carpet and up the support beams. An Asian woman stood in front of the desk, pretty if a little stiff, dressed in a gray pantsuit with a Blackberry in one hand.

"Not bad," she states, almost sounding bored," you certainly beat a record."

"Where is he," Anne growls back, knife sheathed at her hip. She fits an arrow on the string, pulling it taunt as she walks a few feet further into the room. The muscles in her back and shoulders protested the movement, but she shoved the tension to the back of her mind. "Where's your boss?" The woman glances away from her phone, glasses reflecting stock reports from the screen. Anne's eyes narrow as she makes something else out, a dark shape in the glasses that didn't belong there.

Before she could react, she was face-first on the carpet, bow out of reach and her hands secured behind her back. It was the guard from earlier, the one that she'd snuck past at the stairwell. He kept a knee on the center of her back, one hand holding her wrists tightly while the other grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. The man was stronger than he'd looked, his weight enough to keep her down despite how much of a struggle she was putting up.

"I'm impressed," comes a rough drawl. A second later, Black Mask himself was walking into the office from a side door that Anne hadn't noticed. Tall and lean, he cut an imposing figure with the mask he wore; made to look like a skull to hide his disfigurement and giving Roman Sionis a new nickname among the criminals. "I assume you know who I am."

"Don't you know what they say about assuming," Anne grunts out, glowering up at him.

"Don't get cute, it doesn't suit you." Black Mask comes to a stop in front of her, kneeling down so he could turn her face this way and that. "I've heard rumors that Whirlwind left Batman in her dust, but I figured it was just bored criminals spreading gossip. Guess they weren't as stupid as I figured."

"You shouldn't listen to gossip, Ro." He scowls down at her, roughly shoving her face away before straightening up.

"I'm sure you've noticed that I've taken up the mantle of crime boss lately. All criminals work for me now, the smart ones. How would you like to join the team? It's in your best interest if you want to, you know, keep breathing."

"What's in it for me?"

"Power."

"I don't want power." Black Mask clasps his hands behind his back, skin looking tanner than usual against the bright white suit he wore. "I want safety. Batman can't get to me, you give me a nice cover story about why I'm making money, and I get to kill any goons sent after me."

"That sounds fair."

"And I want two thousand bucks a job." His red eyes go wide and she can almost hear him grinding his teeth. "If you wanted an average assassin, then you could've went to the Narrows to pick one up. You  _know_  what I'm capable of, Sionis." He's quiet for a while, thinking over the offer and what he would have to arrange for it to be done to her satisfaction. Eventually, teeth bared in a dangerous grin, he gives a curt nod. The guard sitting on her gets up, pulling her to her feet with on hard yank on her cloak.

"I have your word that you'll work for me?"

"Until something better comes along, yeah." As she shakes his hand, she can see the gears turning in his head. He'd have to up his game after a while if he really wanted to stay on top of the rabble or she might come after him again. And, if she did, she wouldn't let a few guards stop her from putting an arrow through Sionis' heart.

* * *

 

"We've still got an hour before the meeting," Jason says as he comes into the living room. Anne was sprawled out on the couch, legs hanging over the arm of it as she focused on a spot on the wall across the room. She's been like that for two hours, hands on her stomach and eyes blank. She was taking the time for quiet before the meeting, needing to remind herself that she was okay with this.

"I know," she murmurs in return. "Rhett dropped off Chinese." It was still on the counter where Rhett had left it in exchange for borrowing Trapper. The little puppy had been all too happy to disappear next door, loving the cuddles and random ear scratches Rhett would give him.

"I'm not hungry enough for food." He moves to stand at the foot of the couch, reaching out a hand to run his warm fingers over the skin of her ankle. The sensation was familiar to her and made her let out a shuddering breath, her eyes locking with Jason's. "What about you, Annie, you hungry?" She doesn't remember getting up or walking over to him, but suddenly her fingers are in his soft hair and his lips are on hers, those strong arms wrapped around her waist. Jason was here, he was real, he was  _alive_ , and he was  _hers_ ; he was holding her and kissing her and she didn't want it to stop.

She had isolated herself for five years, kept herself from touching others and being touched by them, but the familiar touch of Jason Todd had Anne melting against him. She'd missed him, craved the protection she felt when he was nearby, and now she had him all to herself again. He'd been brought back to life and he was dragging her out of the grave she'd dug for herself.

"Bedroom," Anne gasps, tearing at his button-down," now."

"Yes, ma'am."


End file.
